Loner
by Lykosdracos
Summary: COMPLETE Thoughts from the Wolverine- on bars, hope, loss.


**Loner**

Authors Note: I went to a restaurant and as we went out, I saw on the other side, a darkened bar. There were dark blue lights illuminated from the signs on the wall, but had the television not been on, it looked closed. There were a few people playing pool and music on from a jukebox. I just thought that was one of the loneliest things I'd ever seen. Then I thought about X-Men and Logan and well. . . here the story is. . .

Authors Note 2: This is definitely only going to be a one-shot fic. I can't handle writing anything else right now. I'm damned and determined to finish the other ones, and now that I've started a Secret Window one I'm getting in over my head. Lol

Bars were the loneliest place in the world to go when one wanted to get out. He spent way too much time here, but there was nowhere else to go. So he stayed and wondered who would swagger in through the door next. People talked quietly in corners amongst the small clink of glass being set down on a solid surface. It got really dismal when other men came in and didn't talk, just the drone of some sports game or another went on in the background as hours flew by.

Logan didn't know how long he sat there staring at the beer bottles accumulating around him as he smoked a cigar. That was the worse part, looking at the bottles not knowing how much the tab would be, but not really caring either. He had plenty of money in his wallet, a nice motorcycle waiting for him outside, and no place to go.

It was cold outside now winter was almost here. It didn't matter to him, he couldn't freeze anyway. Most men drank to get away from their memories, to try and drown them in ounce after ounce of cold hard liquor. Logan drank because it seemed like the most logical thing to do in a bar.

His healing power prevented him from getting drunk, although every few hours he'd feel the equivalent of a massive hangover rush through his head as his body coped with the alcohol. Another bonus of the healing, his true mutant power that was quite often overlooked. The claws were surgically grafted in by... ... ... he couldn't recall, that seemed to happen a lot.

He tried to remember things, anything, from his past but blank spaces were all he got back. Memories came and went, most of them relived in nightmares. One day he hoped they'd connect and make sense. His mind was like a freaking jigsaw puzzle, but the pieces had gone missing and only time would get them all back together again.

That's what he liked most about traveling by himself, he only had to worry about one person: him. The road stretched out forever in front of him and, for as long as his bike had gas, he could travel forever. Literally.

Due to the adamantium crafted into his skeletal system, his aging process was slowed. He aged, but not at a normal rate. Logan had been to so many bars they all blurred together in his mind, all of them were the same to him.

"Want anything else?" the bartender asked wiping the counters free of spilled beer and peanut shells.

Logan didn't have to reply, he just nodded and put another couple of dollars on the table. Another beer plunked down in front of him, each of the other bottles had a different label than the one before. He could drink anything, everything, although truthfully nothing beat a good cold Budweiser. In cheap bars like this all of them tasted the same. The ten bottles lined in front of him might have something to do with that, Logan shrugged and downed the beer.

The pool game was over, only he and another man sat at the counter. He put out what was left of his cigar the old-fashioned way. There were no ashtrays in sight so he took the part of the cigar that was burning and put it out in the center of his palm. He used the ashes to smother the fire and watched as the deep burn healed almost instantaneously.

"It's almost closing time." The bartender warned, Logan knew that threat well enough. He obviously hadn't figured out he was a mutant or he would have gotten the boot a long time ago. Either that or he wanted the money more than worrying about the gene pools of his customers.

Logan stretched not noticing the bartender looking at him strangely because instead of bones creaking he heard short metallic noises as the adamantium rubbed against one another. He left the bar leaving no trace that he'd been there. He didn't sign bathroom walls or carve his initials into the counter.

Part of the reason was because he didn't want to go back in fifty or so years and see them still there. He stopped a few miles down the road deciding to get a hotel room for the night. It sure beat the hell out of sleeping under a tree again. With it being the middle of winter, he had no desire to wake up frozen and in excruciating pain as his healing abilities kept death at bay.

The motorcycle was well stocked up with supplies and he didn't really mind, but when a real bed could be found he didn't want to pass that up. He'd 'roughed' it for so many years he could tell a good place from a bad one just by looking.

"Give money to the church, sir," a teenaged boy asked Logan he parked the Harley and chained it twice to make sure it would be there in the morning. Logan turned and dropped a couple of dollars into the container. It wasn't as though he gave a damn about the church, but because it was late and the boy should be home sleeping. What the hell was he doing outside so late anyway?

Who knows what kind of people would come after him and if they were real bastards they'd rob him and possibly kill him for good measure. It amazed him that the kid thought the cause good enough to forfeit his life over. He put in a few more dollars on second thought, everyone might think he was an animal but he knew he wasn't. It didn't matter anyway, they would forget eventually and so would he.

"Get going, kid., he said trying to moderate his gruff and hash tone. Logan watched as the boy stared at him for a few seconds before doing as he was told.

"Er, god bless you." Logan's mouth quirked in a grin at the kid's words. The boy had been terrified, but still thought to spare a second for a biker's soul. He wouldn't last long in this world, not with that mentality.

"Yeah." He pulled out his cigar and lit up glad there were still some people who believed. He sure didn't, that was for damn sure. What Logan believed in was himself and his ability to take care of whomever came along. That's all that mattered anyway, if you couldn't take care of yourself you'd better believe in something.

Those types never lasted long, not in his world. The slightest hesitation, a shadow of doubt; men had been killed for ignoring what lay in the core of a man. He trusted in his skills when it came to combat, battle plans. When it came to emotions, higher beings… best to leave that rock unturned.

Logan rented a room out and set his mental alarm clock to wake him before dawn. Come morning he'd head to the next town and search out a bar there, the process was never ending. Maybe he'd head to Laughlin City, he hadn't been there in awhile.

Falling asleep almost instantly he dreamed of the upcoming bar fight and, for some reason, a young woman who needed his help. She had brown hair and innocent, trusting, eyes. Like he said before he could take care of himself and anyone else who came along. He wasn't in the business of collecting strays, but the urge to protect had always been prevalent.

It never ended well, at least for those he tried to help. Why he felt the urge to help a girl, a teenager at that, was beyond him. He'd deal with any repercussions, as always, there was plenty of time to drown the guilt, the pain of living while those he cared for had died.

Perhaps this time would be different. If one pair of broken, haunted eyes became confident, hopeful… there might be a chance for him yet.

The main arm he used for fighting unclenched as he slept and for the first time since he'd been on the road he didn't dream.


End file.
